


The Day the Music Died

by Its_not_tentacle_porn_shut_up_Joscelin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: American Pie by Don McLean, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Character Death, POV Second Person, Sad, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Well - Freeform, after dean dies, ambiguous timeline, gender ambiguous reader, hunter in training reader, hunter reader, its the story of the impala really, mostly its about the car, no spoilers this was written years ago anyways, okay a little comfort, the major character death is Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 12:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_not_tentacle_porn_shut_up_Joscelin/pseuds/Its_not_tentacle_porn_shut_up_Joscelin
Summary: Songfic of American Pie by Don McLeanDean dies, Sam knows he's not coming back this time and can't stand the reminder; this is the story of the Impala and her new owner (you).
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	The Day the Music Died

**Author's Note:**

> So this just sort of wormed it's way into my head after American Pie got stuck there for a week. It's more of a hypothetical with a soundtrack than anything and could be placed anytime after season 8 I think. Hope you enjoy!

Bye, bye, Miss American Pie… 

Your first car is bought from an older looking guy, shaggy brown hair down to his shoulders and a sense of grief about him. He sold it cheap as it could get, 500$ for the old beauty. Cheaper than dirt even taking into account the damage of cracking leather seats, dinged driver side door, and rusting bumpers. It makes you wonder if he even cares about the money, and not just getting rid of the car.  
Before you drive off, you hear him say “Goodbye, Baby.” like it’s the saddest statement in the world. You almost get out and give back the car, but something tells you to just drive, to take the car away from the old man one final time.

Drove my chevy to the levee but the levee was dry… 

You learn a lot about the car in the first few weeks you drive her; her make, model, and the strange little things that add up to a mystery. She’s a ‘67 Chevy Impala, more than 55 years old now, and has initials carved into her floor, legos stuck in the radiator, an ancient looking green army man wedged into a cup holder tighter than a vice, and a secret compartment in the trunk. It’s the last one that really is a mystery, hidden well enough you almost didn’t notice it, and filled with guns, knives, bullets, and things you don’t even have names for.   
Why leave this small armory in the car when he sold it? Why keep silver and iron bullets alongside bags of salt and knives emblazoned with pentagrams? Why have any of it at all? You ask yourself all of these questions, but never empty the compartment, and never get any real answers. But that’s okay, you tell yourself, because the car feels safe, she feels like home, even if that home isn't yours.

Them good ol’ boys were drinking whiskey and rye… 

Years later, when you’re still driving that old Impala, because by some miracle it hasn’t broken down, not even stalled, since you bought it, you see the old man again. He sits alone at the corner of the bar you’ve stumbled into, nursing what looks like a glass of whiskey. No one bats an eye at him as he sits there, the bartender refills his glass without prompting when he finishes it, half an hour later. You figure he’s a regular, so out of some morbid curiosity you ask the bartender his name, and offer to pay for tonight’s tab. You learn he’s called Old Sam around here, despite him apparently only being in his mid forties. It shocks you to hear his age, they were right, he looked much older, much more world weary, than anyone under sixty had any right to be.   
As the night goes on, and you’ve gone through more rum and cokes than you probably should’ve, you move over to sit next to him at the bar, and ask him a simple question.   
“Why’d you sell the car?” 

Singing, this will be the day that I die… 

He never answered you, not with his words, but the sorrow and pain in his eyes tell you enough. It tells you that the car was his home, it tells you all the answers to the questions you’ve been asking for years, that the car was a reminder of the monsters, of the good days, of the man who used to drive it, it tells you that Old Sam isn’t drinking away his sorrows or grief, he’s drowning his guilt and his memories. And that look in his eyes tells you one more thing, the most important you think, that he may be called Old Sam, and that he may be a certifiable alcoholic, but he could still use any one of the weapons in that trunk to kill you without a second’s hesitation if he thought you were a threat.   
You left the bar after that, and never saw Sam again, but from that night onwards you learned to use every single weapon in that trunk...and what to use them on. 

This will be the day that I die.


End file.
